


Palpable

by porcelainepeony



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: (Humanoid) Lightning/Jin, M/M, dischargeshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 15:48:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20509520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porcelainepeony/pseuds/porcelainepeony
Summary: Sometimes two voids can make a whole.





	Palpable

**Word Count: **4930  
**Rating: **M (just to be safe, but honestly the smut is so insignificant and not at all detailed, so I'd personally rate it T)  
**Notes:** I sat on my phone and typed this in one go, so uh… sorry if something is confusing. It wasn’t meant to have any sort of… meaning? I just wanted smut, but that doesn’t even happen until the end OTL

Possibly canon-divergent (depending on how Vrains ends.) Set a few years after the current arc. Lightning’s humanoid (android) form is based on a fanart from Twitter user 666emp666. I believe their account is now deleted, but that’s where I drew my inspiration for his look.

This is Jin-centric, and it’s very much intended to be Lightning/Jin. I guess this also ended up being my own interpretation of Lightning’s personal redemption. IDK how their relationship reads, and I think I could have read through this and maybe built something more solid, but I’m lazy. :D And it was near midnight when I finished this OTL

Thanks for reading!

xxx

Empty.  
  
No other word describes Jin’s existence quite like that word. In a way, he’s much better off not knowing why he had spent the better part of his childhood and adolescence in a mental institution, but his vacant memories remind him that something did happen. Something terrible. Something debilitating. Something awful enough to destroy his family and render him a useless, practically lifeless shell of the boy he once was.  
  
Jin supposes he isn’t much different now. Besides the chaotic, crumbling cliffs of his sanity, Jin is still a hollow husk, very much a person on the outside, yet nothing but darkness, a never-ending void on the inside.  
  
There are days when Jin lies in his pseudo-bed and stares at the ceiling of his brother’s food truck, gaze faraway, mind receding into the folds of apathy. He’s detached on those days. Caught between wanting to move forward and aching to look back. Stuck between never wanting answers and desiring nothing more than the truth. On better days, Jin falls into a dreamless sleep and awakens to the sound of his brother calling him for breakfast. On most days, Jin’s thoughts turn into questions, turn into visions of blinding lights, turn into monsters and monsters and _so many monsters_. When he jolts awake, Jin’s heart races. He thinks he hears a voice call his name. Thinks he hears it whisper to him. Thinks it holds the power to fill the cavity within his chest and answer his only question.  
  
_What happened to me?_  
  
x  
  
Jin doesn’t remember the so-called funny stories his brother relates. Can’t remember playing ball with Shoichi. Doesn’t recall his favorite foods, his best subject at school, if he had any friends. He can’t even picture his parents’ faces. But he sits and listens as his brother tries to piece together the broken shards of his memory, while the mysterious voice that calls to him from his nightmares echoes like a siren’s song, a cacophony of pain, a harmony of regret. 

For all the promised anguish laced within the voice, an interest takes hold of Jin, slowly wrapping its tendrils around his neck, threatening not to choke, but to lift Jin from the pit of darkness he found himself suffocating in and into the brightness that exists just out of his reach. Jin hides his morbid curiosity. Veils it behind smiles and laughter and nods. Masks it. Wraps it in foil and buries it deep inside his chest so that he isn’t tempted to ask those around him any questions, no matter how much he has a right to know. After all, he doesn’t want to worry his brother. Shoichi has done so much for him already. He’s given up so much for Jin’s sake. Has tried so hard to put the past behind him. The least Jin could do is lie and pretend he is okay.  
  
x  
  
The first time Jin sees him, Jin catches himself staring. The young man is not much taller than him, but he stands with confidence. Arrogance, perhaps. A pretentious air Jin hasn’t encountered before. His skin is pale, almost translucent, and his hair is the lightest shade of blond streaked with sunrise yellow Jin has ever seen. He’s pretty, Jin thinks. He has long lashes, striking golden-lime eyes, and a smirk that makes Jin blush.  
  
When their gazes meet, Jin thinks he knows him. Thinks he’s seen him somewhere before. Thinks there’s something familiar in the way he tilts his hip and cocks his head.  
  
The blond youth takes the bag of hotdogs from Shoichi and turns, walking past Jin as he saunters away from Café Nagi. “It’s good to see you, Jin,” he says, voice melodic and soothing, discordant and unsettling.  
  
Jin freezes. He’s never heard his heart beat so loudly.  
  
x  
  
Three months pass. Not a second goes by that Jin doesn’t think about the young blond man who murmured his name. Sometimes, Jin feels that golden-lime gaze on him, watching him, showering him with sunrays and splendor. Jin’s heart races wildly in those moments, his body accustomed to fear and anxiety, his mind nothing but an ocean of curiosity and longing.  
  
Before the young man appears before him, Jin feels a drumming in his chest, and he wonders why he’s so scared. The day is beautiful. The sky is a bright blue, the sun shining without a single cloud blocking its radiance.

Perhaps he’s excited.

Shoichi is joking with Takeru, while feeding both Takeru and Yusaku what would probably amount to too many hotdogs. It didn’t take long for Jin to lose track of the conversation, but he continues to smile and nod, faking interest and care. Regardless, it isn’t long before his attention is ripped away by the blond youth standing not too far in the distance, golden-lime eyes beckoning Jin to approach.   
  
Jin excuses himself. Walks up to the blond with determination gracing his eyes. It’s the first time Jin has wanted something so strongly. The first time he remembers craving anything. The first time he’s made the conscious effort to seek out the answers he so desires.  
  
“It’s my fault, you know,” the youth says as he turns around to no doubt hide from the prying eyes that were soon to follow.  
  
“Who are you?” Jin asks, fingertips quivering despite the warm summer air.  
  
A smirk appears on the man’s face. “They didn’t even have the decency to tell you about us, did they?”  
  
Jin’s confusion is evident in the way he scrunches his eyebrows and purses his lips.  
  
“Fine, I’ll tell you my name,” the youth says, placing a hand on his hip. “Lightning.”  
  
“Lightning,” Jin repeats, the name rolling off his tongue like a dulcet hymn. He thinks he remembers the name. Perhaps heard it in a dream or in a conversation not meant for his ears.  
  
Lightning smiles. He’s eerie and beautiful, familiar and--  
  
Jin reaches out, but Lightning chuckles and turns away. “Don’t forget me this time.”  
  
x  
  
Jin doesn’t forget Lightning. Instead, Lightning plagues him. Haunts his dreams. Inhabits his thoughts. Torments and terrorizes his every breath. There’s something about Lightning that sets Jin off, causes him to feel, to react, to respond. He’s agitated on some nights. Frustrated and disappointed. Sullen and bitter and somber. His emptiness feels different. He’s still a shell. A void. Still clueless about who he is and why he exists. Still a blank slate for his brother to impress and paint and shape. But his thoughts are his own, and they take on a new life, coiling like a serpent, rotating like gears. He’s no longer afraid of the monsters when he slumbers. They recoil at his gaze, shrinking back, skin striping and tearing, revealing Lightning’s face beneath the sediment. In his dreams, Jin reaches out for Lightning. Welcomes him into his arms. Extends his hands in an effort to grasp what was missing from him all along. 

Lightning turns to dust before they can touch. Slips through Jin’s fingers. Vanishes with a whisper.

_Jin.  
_  
Lightning feeds Jin crumbs in the real world, visiting him once every few months, saying no more than two dozen words at best each time they meet.  
  
“I’m an android now, but before I was purely an ignis,” he admits the next time they see each other, eyebrow twitching as if in irritation.  
  
“You don’t like being an android?” Jin asks, but receives only a shrug in reply. “What’s an ignis?”  
  
“The result of your trauma,” Lightning explains, a smugness about him that makes Jin feel uneasy.  
  
_My trauma…_  
  
Lightning does not tell Jin what he means. He leaves Jin without another word, only to come back a month later to tell Jin about his home—the one before the war and the one after the war, the one he destroyed and the one he’s helping build. The next time they meet, Lightning tells Jin about the other ignis—the other androids—and how they were all graciously saved by Playmaker.

“I suppose he’s some type of hero,” Lightning snorts, not at all buying it. But his second chance—his meeting Jin—is a direct result of Playmaker’s heroics, so he accepts it, somewhat, though the disdain is evident in his gaze.

“Playmaker’s the one who saved me, too,” Jin thoughtlessly mutters.

At that comment, Lightning laughs.

x

Another full month passes before Lightning walks back into Jin’s life. Summer is gone, and autumn has already begun kissing winter’s doorstep. Jin doesn’t like the cold, he realizes when he spots Lightning past his brother’s shoulder and excuses himself from helping gather more hotdogs for the customer’s waiting in line. It’s cold outside the food truck. Jin forgets to grab his jacket, so he’s shivering when he reaches Lightning.

Lightning looks at Jin and shakes his head. He’s dressed for the cool evening, wears khaki pants, a lavender turtle neck, and a white trench coat. There’s a scarf, too, hanging loosely around his neck, but he removes it and tosses it to Jin without a word.   
  
“Why don’t you come by more often?” Jin asks, wrapping the scarf around his neck before hugging himself. The fabric does nothing for his arms or chest, but his cheeks turn scarlet.

The topic is not one Lightning cares to address. He curls his lips downward and begins walking toward the back of Café Nagi, answering with a simple, “There’s no need.”

Jin hates that answer. Hates the way his heart shudders at the words. Hates the bile rising in his throat. For a moment, he considers telling Lightning never to come back again, but he realizes he hates that thought even more. There’s something about Lightning’s visits that brighten Jin’s mood, that gives him the strength to get up in the mornings, that reacts with the monotony of his thoughts to bring forth colorful streaks and glimmers of hope.  
  
They stop when they reach the back of the truck, safe from Shoichi’s wandering eyes. Something else is on Lightning’s mind. Jin can tell. He bites back the bitterness still fresh from Lightning’s reply, sighs, slams his back against the cool metal of the truck, and waits. Waiting is the only Jin knows how to do, but his patience wears thin, peeling away like the skin of a cobra. 

They’re silent. Jin is still cold, but the scarf is warm, and it smells faintly of citrus and bergamot.   
  
“You’re my origin,” Lightning finally says, leaning lightly against the truck. His gaze is faraway, watching the sky and the clouds, avoiding Jin’s gaze. 

Jin has figured as much. Figured there was a specific—_special_—reason Lightning came to him, not only in the physical world, but in his dreams. They were connected. Linked by some chain neither could see. Joined by fate. Or circumstance. “You were made from my trauma,” Jin replies. He still can’t remember his trauma. Has no idea what happened. Why it affected him so much. All he knows is that it did happen and that Lightning was a direct result of whatever was done to him. 

The corners of Lightning’s lip curve. He’s smiling, but Jin sees no malice. It’s an empty smile. One put on for show. Jin knows it well—he wears one all the time around his brother and Yusaku and Takeru. Wears one for the sake of existing and coping with the reality of being empty. Of feeling nothing. Of breathing the air only because his lungs willed him to live.

The wind blows. Lightning makes a move to leave, but Jin reacts with the only conclusion he is able to conjure from the few clues Lightning hisses every time they talk. “So you’re mine,” Jin whispers, watching the way Lightning’s smile fades. 

Their eyes meet. It’s the first time Lightning allows their gazes to linger for longer than five seconds, but it’s enough time for Jin to realize he likes staring into Lightning’s eyes. They’re narrow, but bright, long lashes fluttering like the downy feathers of a swan. 

“Yes. I am yours,” Lightning replies.

Jin’s fingers twitch, but he can’t stop Lightning from walking away.   
  
x

Weeks pass. Shoichi finally has enough money to pay rent for a small two-bedroom apartment. He’s excited. Tells Jin they can start their new life there. Says they can buy beds and a table and invite Yusaku and Takeru over for dinner whenever they want.

The walls smell of chemicals and mold, but it’s better than living in the truck. There’s more space. More places Jin can hide to avoid Shoichi. More corners he can stare at while he wonders the if’s and what-could-have-been’s of life. Jin doesn’t care much about where he sleeps. Doesn’t see a use for a table when they already have a small one in the truck. Doesn’t know why inviting Yusaku and Takeru over for dinner makes a difference when they stop by Café Nagi every other day for hotdogs and free coffee.   
  
“I was terrible to you,” Lightning admits the next time they see each other. “You were subjected to a cruel experiment, and I exacerbated the problem.”  
  
Jin isn’t sure what to reply. Isn’t sure if Lightning is apologizing or trying to make himself look like the bad guy. He contemplates telling Lightning about his new home and the way the rain drips down his window because the gutter above his bedroom is broken. He thinks about telling Lightning he hears scuttering in the ceiling, no doubt from some vermin the previous tenants didn’t care to complain about. He ponders telling Lightning about the dark staircase down the hall and how the shadows creep and crawl and remind him of the monsters inside his head. 

A minute passes. Jin tosses Lightning’s confession around in his head, and he realizes he doesn’t want to talk about his new home or the vermin or his darkness. He wants answers. He needs them desperately. Craves the truth and release and the soothing sound of Lightning’s voice.

“Why’d you come find me?” Jin asks, his breath hitching.   
  
Lightning looks shocked for all but a second. “The same reason I sought you out the first time. You’re mine.”

Jin swallows the uncomfortable lump in his throat and turns. Walks away. He’s confused. Anxious. Angry. He knows nothing. The emptiness is starting to swell and fester. Yet every time he sees Lightning, the void fills with energy, with brilliance, and Jin swears no one but Lightning can cure his misery. It’s not the way Jin wants to live his life—he doesn’t think clinging onto the essence of his trauma is healthy—but he can’t help but wonder if Lightning feels the same—_can he feel the same?_—or if Lightning isn’t playing some cruel, awful joke, toying with him the way a cat paws at a dead bird.   
  
He doesn’t see Lightning for months. Doesn’t hear his voice. Doesn’t even see him in his dreams. Lightning disappears entirely, like memories in old age, a slow progression of vivid colors turned hazy and dim. Jin thinks something has happened to him. Wonders if perhaps something is preventing Lightning from returning to him. But somewhere deep inside the hollows of his mind, Jin knows Lightning is avoiding him, afraid of severing the delicate bond holding their existences together. 

“Jin, you okay?" Shoichi asks him one day, ever concerned, never observant. How could Jin tell his brother the truth? How could he ask him to divulge the very thing he wanted Jin to move away from? Shoichi didn’t even know the pain and suffering his brother endured. Their experiences were different, germinated from the same seed, but grown divergently. Even if Jin asked him, Shoichi was a bystander. An outsider. A concerned big brother and nothing more. He didn’t deserve to know how incomplete Jin felt. Didn’t deserve more pain and disappointment. 

Nodding, Jin puts on the smile he’s perfected, the one he wears at school and at the hospital and around Shoichi’s friends. “Sorry, I was thinking about homework.”

Shoichi believes him.

x  
  
Jin’s immediate response is anger the next time Lightning decides he wants to see his origin. Anger and spite and resentment, nicely wrapped in the folds between his brows and the creases in his forehead. 

“You have some nerve, Lightning,” Jin half-growls, fisting his hands. He’s never felt so irate and annoyed and--

“You should know the truth,” Lightning interrupts. Reaches out. Takes Jin by the wrist and pulls. 

\--relieved? Pacified? Comforted?

There’s an onslaught of emotions swirling within Jin’s mind. A flurry of unknowns and unfamiliars shoving and punching and grinding. Lightning is warm for an artificially-created being. So warm, Jin thinks he hasn’t known what real warmth was like before their touch. His muscles relax. His legs move on their own, fingers intertwining with Lightning’s, hand clasping Lightning’s as if Lightning were the only anchor binding Jin to the world of the living.

Lightning’s home is in LINK VRAINS. Somewhere no human can find. “Except you, Jin,” Lightning hums, voice reverberating within Jin’s skull. 

Jin closes his eyes. Sees the monsters from his nightmares. Hears Lightning whisper his name. When his eyes flutter open, he meets his gaze to Lightning’s and wonders if his world would ever be as bright as the yellow lining Lightning’s irises.   
  
“Tell me,” Jin implores. 

Lightning holds nothing back, meticulously divulging every detail Jin no longer remembers. He tells Jin of the kidnapping, of the facility where he was held, of the duels and the penalties and the screaming. He tells Jin of the consequences of losing, of the tears and agony etched into his face, of the tiny sliver of hope pounding within Jin’s chest every time he won a duel. He tells Jin of his own experiments, of his curiosity and how he thought he could make Jin—himself—stronger by shattering his hopes over and again and drowning him in monsters and monsters and _so many monsters._

“You broke instead,” Lightning says calmly, watching Jin’s face for a reaction. When he didn’t receive any, Lightning continues, posture composed, voice serene. “You never recovered, but I watched you anyway. From the monitors and computers around you in that desolate ward. You were frail and weak, but you were mine, and I wanted you by my side.”

“For?” Jin interrupts, breath steady despite the sludge pouring from Lightning’s mouth.

“For my new world.”

Jin snorts, knowing that plan obviously didn’t turn out the way Lightning had hoped. Despite Shoichi’s secrecy, Jin knows Playmaker saved him from Lightning. Or rather, saved the world from the vessel Lightning had created.

Lightning wears a frown, yet his words remain expressionless. “How do you feel,” he asks, moving a hand to his chin, letting his gaze travel up and down Jin’s VR form, “knowing all that has happened, yet remembering none of it?”

Jin meets Lightning’s stare, ponders everything Lightning has said, yet he feels nothing. There’s no fear. No dread. No anguish nor anger. There’s no relief nor happiness. No satisfaction. Not even the tiniest amount of optimism sizzles within Jin’s soul. The truth was supposed to set him free, but it does nothing to the cavity within Jin’s chest, nothing to fill the hollow chambers of his heart. Instead, he feels emptier. Apathetic. Indifferent.

Did knowing matter? Or were his delusions as meaningless as the truth?

“What happened to them?” Jin asks, head pounding. There are too many emotions coming at him all at once, picking at his sanity, nibbling at his consciousness.

Lightning’s eyes widen, and he perks. “To whom?”

Jin shakes his head. Shuts his eyes tightly. It’s dark inside his head. Dark and sunken and decayed. “My memories.”

When Lightning doesn’t answer, Jin opens his eyes. Their gazes meet. Lightning blinks slowly, lips curling into a smile. “To prevent myself from losing my duel against Revolver, I used your memories as a placeholder. They’re gone. Data turned to ash.”

Lightning is proud, as if his little trick showers mercy on Jin. Instead, Jin feels the weight of a train smash into him, crushing him, rendering him nothing but a slump of meat and bones and blood. It crushes him. Knowing his memories weren’t forgotten but lost—_turned to ash_—crushes Jin. “It’s your fault…” he mumbles, breath hitched, eyes narrowing.

Lightning shrugs, acting nonchalant, but the way his shoulders slump forward and his posture shrinks is more striking than the words he speaks. “That is correct.”

Anger seethes with Jin, flaring like a wildfire, sparking like a storm. Jin stands. His body quivers from an uncontrollable desire to rage, but it’s his mouth that moves, spewing venom in the only way he knew. “It’s your fault I can’t feel anything!”

Jin’s reaction is the last one Lightning expects. That much is evident in the way his pupils dilate, in the way he gawks at Jin. But he collects himself quickly and stands, reaching out to grab Jin’s wrists.

“Stop!” Jin shouts. He’s never raised his voice—at least from what he can remember—but the echo strums in his ears and bounces back into the hollow of his cranium.

Lightning’s eyes close, fine blond eyebrows scrunched, confused, uncertain. Jin’s never seen Lightning express so much emotion, but there’s sorrow lining his lashes, despair kissing his stare, desperation glazing his words. “Jin,” he breathes out. Stops. Seemingly contemplates the onslaught of feelings, unsure of how to read them, hesitant to trust them. “Don’t push me away.”

The idea crosses Jin’s thoughts—was Lightning also an empty shell? Was all Lightning’s back and forth his own way of reaching for a fire in the pit of his darkness? Is that why he looked defeated? Was he grasping at ropes and slipping, trying to hold on to Jin the way Jin ached to hold onto him? Was Jin not the only one missing a part of himself?

Jin tastes salt. It’s the first time he remembers crying since he regained consciousness, but he isn’t sure he likes the flavor. Isn’t sure he likes the way Lightning moves him. Isn’t sure he wants Lightning to have so much power over him.

Lightning falls to his knees elegantly. It’s a pitiful sight, an angel stripped of his wings, forced to play the role of a human, compelled to live with his sin and folly until death chokes his spirit and decay mars his skin.

Jin’s fingers twitch. The surge of emotions is bubbling within him again, boiling like lava, readying to erupt from his every pore. His gaze caresses Lightning, and he realizes Lightning has absolutely no control over him. He never did. They were both lost. Both stretching out hands. Both barely gripping, mostly slipping. “Lightning,” Jin whispers, but before he can touch Lightning’s shoulder, Lightning’s voice reaches him, hopeless and shamed, miserable and forlorn.

“I’m different from them. Flawed… imperfect,” Lightning starts, voice calm at first, but increasingly quieter. “There’s hope for them. No matter the algorithms, the others come out on top every time. Every time, they prove Dr. Kogami wrong. Every time, the results support a bond between them and their origin.” Lightning pauses, his shoulders quaking. “But not me. There was never a chance for us because I destroyed it.”

The tears dry on Jin’s cheeks. His hands fall to his sides.

Lightning looks small, hunched over on the floor, gripping at the floor as he confesses, “But I want to fix it now. I want a purpose. I want what they all have the possibility of obtaining.”

Their gazes lock. Jin feels warm, as if the brightest star had wrapped itself around his form and embraced him. Jin longs to say he wants the same. Longs to do nothing more than find meaning in his empty existence. Longs to find what’s been missing in his life—what’s been within reach all along.

Lightning laughs. He’s defeated. Again. Everything he wants he cannot obtain, but he’s trying. For the sake of the others, for the sake of Ai, for the sake of his origin, he’s trying. “I want to be by your side, Jin.”

Jin can feel the mix of dread and happiness collide within his chest. It’s overwhelming. Astoundingly so.

His lips part before he logs off. It’s an invitation. Acceptance. Hope.

“Come find me.”

When Jin opens his eyes, he is in the safety of his room. Shoichi is listening to music in the living room. Jin can’t make out the lyrics or hear the melody. All that reverberates in his head is the sound of Lightning’s voice calling his name. 

x

Spring brings warmer days, but the nights are still chilly. Shoichi has lived with Jin long enough to know Jin hates the cold, so he tells Jin to stay home. “I’ll handle the business until it gets a bit warmer,” he assures Jin, laughing when Jin complains that Shoichi, too, dislikes cold weather.

“Nah, it’s not so bad. S’long as I take a jacket.”

Shoichi forgets his jacket, but he doesn’t come back for it, and Jin doesn’t venture outside since he’s too lazy to put on jeans and a t-shirt.

Lightning shows up at Jin’s door during Shoichi’s shift at Café Nagi. It’s only been a week, but seeing Lightning so suddenly surprises Jin. He doesn’t have the strength to stop Lightning from coming inside, but he argues for the sake of Lightning’s safety and to try and convince himself he doesn’t want to be alone with Lightning while wearing nothing but his pajamas. “You can’t be here. My brother’ll—”

Jin’s back hits the wall softly, but it’s hard enough to sap the air from his lungs. Wincing, Jin looks up, catches Lightning’s gaze. The door clicks beside them, while long, pale fingers turn the lock and fasten the safety chain.

“You told me to come find you,” Lightning hums. He leans close. Presses his lips against Jin’s softly. Touches their noses in sweetness. Sincerity. Fear. He doesn’t have to say anything else. Jin can tell he’s dangling, hanging onto the last bit of hope as he pleas for a second chance—a chance to make everything better.

Jin cups Lightning’s cheek. His skin is soft. Warm. It feels nice against Jin’s hand. Makes Jin’s heart dance. Makes him reach up with his other hand to brush Lightning’s hair out of his face.

“I don’t think I can live without you,” Jin whispers, scrunching his brows at the words he uses. Hates the lie lacing his confession. It isn’t that he doesn’t think he can live without Lightning—he knows he doesn’t want to. Knows it’s impossible for him to move forward without Lightning by his side. Knows the way his heart races when Lightning speaks is the only certainty in his life. Knows the missing pieces inside his chest fasten perfectly to the broken ones inside Lightning.

Lightning smiles, the emptiness and loneliness he has carried ever since Playmaker saved him and the other ignis abating. “Good,” he says, his reply hushed. Modest. Genuine.

They crash into each other awkwardly. Jin isn’t sure what to do—he knows the logistics of sex, but everything moves way more quickly when two bodies are sliding and pressing and aching to become one. He takes pleasure in knowing Lightning, too, is at a loss, fumbling with his hands and Jin’s shirt, while running fingers through Jin’s hair. 

Their lips fit perfectly. Better than coffee and cream. Better than hot cocoa and winter. Better than rain and roses. Jin wonders how either of them ever got on before, how they survived without each other’s touch, for kissing and tasting Lightning was like breathing air and feeling sunlight. 

Lightning's touch is gentle, as if afraid to break Jin again. Jin appreciates the tenderness, but he laughs and sways into the touch, his eyes catching Lightning’s, his cheeks stained scarlet. “I trust you,” Jin breathes, happy. He's finally happy. Finally able to feel something past the obscurity shielding his eyes. Finally able to think clearly and function, the misplaced gears and springs coming to life beneath Lightning's touch. “I trust you, Lightning.”

They’re the words Lightning wants—needs—to hear. He cherishes them. Takes them into his arms and cradles them close to his chest. Scorches them into his skin. Fuses with their essence. 

Jin’s voice echoes when Lightning enters him. When they finally coalesce and Jin feels the emptiness inside his soul fasten onto Lightning’s life. They move in unison, two parts of a whole, two ends of a severed rope united again. Their lips crash. Hands grip and caress. Bodies dance and unite. 

Lightning murmurs _Jin_ delicately as he empties inside Jin. His body isn’t human, but the SOLtiS androids were made to replace humanity, and he feels more real than anyone ever has, feels warm and soft and _his_. 

“You’re mine, Jin,” Lightning whispers, hand brushing Jin’s bangs, breath tickling Jin’s cheek. 

Jin doesn’t say a word, but he feels a tug at the corners of his cheeks, feels the way his body sinks against Lightning’s. It’s nice. Certain. Loads his heart with purpose and his thoughts with luster. 

The darkness ebbs. Jin closes his eyes, sees the monsters one last time before they melt into golden-lime irises. Jin doesn’t know if Lightning can truly change. If, together, they can rewrite Lightning's lonely, tragic destiny. But what Jin does know is that, with Lightning by his side, he doesn’t feel quite so empty. The void is gone, replaced with arms that cradle, a voice that soothes, and a beacon that keeps him whole.


End file.
